


Morning After

by the_bedheaded_league (giantflyingskelesnurtle)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Retirement, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23322244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giantflyingskelesnurtle/pseuds/the_bedheaded_league
Summary: Holmes reflects on the happiest day of his life.Literally just some tooth-rotting fluff. Have fun.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 76





	Morning After

On a cold winter’s night on the Sussex downs, my husband and I sat together before the fire. We had a thick blanket wrapped around us and had each just finished a hot cup of tea. The sky was a gentle blue outside our windows, glittering with delicate stars and shimmering with the very last rays of the fading sunset. 

The winter had been a beautiful one so far. The downs were blanketed with fresh snow and the sky was a crisp blue during the daytime. We had taken regular walks through the glittering white countryside, and on the days when fresh snow had fallen, Sherlock left me to go dig out his hives while I waited for him inside with his slippers and a hot pot of tea at the ready. When he returned, his face was always flushed and pink, and there was something so irresistible about the sight of him like that that I often tackled him as soon as he took off his coat and boots and had my way with him before the roaring fire in our sitting room. On other days, we stayed inside and filled our time with reading, talking, and enjoying each other’s company in every way we could. Sherlock played his violin as much as his old hands would allow him, and I read to him from yellow-backed novels or old books of poetry. It had been one of the loveliest winters I could remember.

As Sherlock tugged me closer and pressed a soft kiss to my thinning, grey hair, tears pricked at my eyes. 

“Sherlock,” I said.

He nuzzled my head and kissed me again. “Mm?”

“I am… happy.”

He pulled away to look at me with a quirked eyebrow. “Are you.”

“Yes,” I whispered. I swallowed a lump in my throat and wiped my eyes. “Happier than I’ve ever felt before. Happier than I ever thought I would be allowed to feel.”

Sherlock’s face softened. “So am I,” he said. He found my hand under the blanket and gave it a soft squeeze. “Ever since we retired, I have been finding myself feeling more and more astonished at our luck in life. I still don’t know what I ever did to deserve this, and I doubt I ever will. It is one mystery that shall always evade me.” He chuckled. “Although personally, I do disagree on one point. I have been happier than this before.”

I looked at him sharply, which made him laugh. “Don’t worry, darling – I assure you, you played quite a large role in it. But even as content as I am now, there is one day that shall forever stand out in my mind as the single happiest day of my life. I sincerely doubt that any shall ever replace it.” 

“And what would that day be, pray tell?” 

Sherlock leaned back and tucked his face into my neck. “It was… oh, it was several decades ago now,” he began. “The day after you first confessed your love to me.” 

“The day  _ after? _ ”

“Yes, after. The day itself was also one of my happiest, of course, but that day was also rife with anxiety, hesitation, fear… looking back, it’s quite impressive to me that I managed not to collapse into a ball of nerves.”

“ _ You _ were nervous! Even after  _ I _ was the one who did the confessing?” 

“Yes, I was terribly nervous! Dear god, John, did you really not notice? Our first kiss was blissful, and yet I could shake the feeling that I was too inexperienced, too clumsy – that I would inevitably disappoint you. And later that night, when we made love… I wanted to give you everything, to  _ show _ you everything at once. I felt that you deserved far more than I was able to supply. And when you fell asleep in my arms, I remained awake for hours. I wanted to memorize everything about how it felt, in case…” He sighed. “In case you realized what a terrible mistake you had made and ran off the next morning in disgust.” 

He fell silent for a moment. “Sherlock,” I said. “Did you really think that I would regret what I’d – what we’d done?”

“Of course,” he said. “I assumed that you had merely been swept up in the throes of passion, and would soon come to realize your error. I believed that you deserved so much more than me. So much better. I expected you to be gone by morning.” 

He paused again. I nudged him. “And then… the next day?”

“The next day, you were still there.” I could feel him smile against my neck. “You were there, in my bed, naked and debauched and smiling. You reached out to stroke my cheek, and you said, ‘Good morning, love,’ as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And in that moment, I knew that I had been wrong about everything. I knew that you were truly mine.” 

I felt another lump in my throat. “I had always been yours, you damn fool. Right from the start.”

He chuckled. “Well, dear, you have always said that my hindsight is rather impeccable.”


End file.
